


Gravity

by CharityLambkin



Series: The Singularity of Being [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Bruce Banner and Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Has Issues, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Oblivious Bruce Banner, Science Bros, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharityLambkin/pseuds/CharityLambkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce hasn't been himself lately, but luckily he has a lab partner to cheer him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Tony says that he doesn't do romance--except for when he does romance.

 

Bruce was awoken from his not-really-asleep sleep by the sound of…something…knocking on his 88th floor bedroom window. (When he first moved in, Tony told him, “Bruce, you get the 88th floor!  It’s special: double infinity, 88 keys on a piano, and alliterate.”) The tapping was rhythmic, obviously intentional, and not a little frightening.  He rolled from his low platform bed onto the warm bamboo floor and skirted around the wall so he could peer across the room at the window and assess the danger.

Outside his window, knocking gently, was Iron Man.  Bruce sagged in relief.  “JARVIS, open the window, please,” he said.  JARVIS silently obliged and Bruce went to the window and leaned leaned out, one hand on each side of the sill.  “What are you doing?” Bruce hissed.

“Cheering you up!  You’ve seemed so…well…just low lately, and when I feel low, I take the suit out for a joyride, so here I am!”

Tony raised his palms to push himself away from the building, then dropped his hands to his sides as he rose in the air.  Bruce had to lean out the window to see him turn in a sweeping arc.  Tony blared Van Halen from the suit’s external speakers as he released the flares on his shoulders, which were loaded with sparkling gold fireworks instead of rockets.  Tony hovered in the air in front of the shimmering embers, framed by the Manhattan skyline below and the hazy purple sky above, before slowly reducing the power and sinking down to the window again.

“You,” Bruce said, “are causing a scene.”  He crossed his arms over his chest, but he thought a moment too late about the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“There!” Tony cried in triumph, pointing at Bruce’s face.  “I saw it!  You were going to smile!”

Bruce leveled his most serious don’t-fuck-with-me look in return, but Tony just grinned more in return.

The stabilizers shot jets of steamy exhaust as Tony disappeared from view.  He returned with a bag.  “Here!” he called as he tossed it in through the window. 

Bruce didn’t quite catch it and it tumbled on the floor.  Inside the bag was one of the thick, thermally insulated inner layers that Tony wore inside the suit.  He eyed it dubiously.

“Put it on,” Tony urged.

“What kind of date is this?” Bruce said as he struggled to pull on the tight, form-fitting material. 

“One that may involve wind chill and high altitudes.  And this is not a date.”  Bruce paused.  “Just put it on!” Tony said.

Bruce wrestled the zipper closed and also added his own faded purple sweatshirt on top.

“What if I get scared and the Other Guy decides to show up?  I don’t know how he’d react to flying, and if he struggled, he’d be dropped right in the middle of the city!”

“First of all, cut it out with the what ifs--  it just sounds like a dare to me.  And damn it, don’t you want to fly?  Who doesn’t want to fly?  It’s the best superpower ever!”  Tony’s voice softened when he said, “Now, go get your heart monitor.” Bruce obeyed, strapping it tightly and slipping it under the sleeve of the suit.  “Ok, if you say we’re in trouble, I’ll jet off and drop you in the ocean.  I can break the sound barrier; we’ll get there in time.  We can do this.  Ready?”

Bruce nodded and stepped up to the ledge.  Tony adjusted the angle of his repulsors and drifted gently to the window sill.  He stood on the ledge and held out an armored hand.  “Just stand here on my feet and I’ll wrap my arm around you like this to hold you there, so I can still use my other stabilizer to do this…”  Bruce felt surprisingly secure, but his stomach still dropped when Tony pushed away from the window and allowed them to steadily float into the sky.  A glittering tapestry of city lights unfolded beneath their feet; Bruce’s rooms were not exactly the penthouse, but they were already far above most of the surrounding buildings.  The heart monitor beeped once, then twice, then fell silent.

“What, not exciting enough for you?” Tony scoffed.

“Yes, Tony—TONY!” Bruce’s breath was sucked out of him as Tony flipped down his visor and Iron Man ‘s rockets propelled them across the skyline.  They curved gracefully around the tops of the skyscrapers, weaving among mirrored windows, and finally returning to spiral gently down the twin spires of the Tower. 

Bruce gasped for breath once he noticed they had slowed, listening intently for the space between beeps--though after a moment he figured that if he hadn’t transformed already, then he probably wouldn’t now.   But he could feel sweat dripping down his neck, and the wind _was_ cold up here, and he shivered and couldn’t stop, and oh no, was he going into shock?

Tony flipped up his visor.  “Hey, Bruce, you ok buddy?  Air too thin up here? Too cold? JARVIS, what can we do about that?”

Almost immediately, warm, dry air vented over his body, carrying the smell of ozone, engine oil, hot metal, and toasted-coconut-Tony beneath it all.  It must be the heat exhaust from the suit, Bruce thought, and maybe oxygen, too, because the lightheadedness faded away.   The warmth was the most wonderful feeling, and then Tony began holding him closer so he could reach his other hand around Bruce’s back, rubbing up and down, though he must know that metal armor wouldn’t provide the extra warmth that a flesh and blood arm would.  

“I’m sorry,” Tony said after a minute, “I should have warned you.  That was mean.”

“Hey, that’s my line,” Bruce mumbled into the armor.  Tony laughed.  How strange, Bruce thought, to be able to still feel the laughter rumble though Tony’s chest through so many layers of electronics and metal. 

Tony pulled up the hood of Bruce’s sweatshirt.  “Do you want to go in, or are you up to some more?  Before you decide, I would like to point out that your eyes never even went green.”

“I had my eyes closed because you were doing crazy-rocket-man-show-off moves!  How could you tell?”

“Hey, a slow bank around the Chrysler Building is not crazy-rocket-man-shit.  And I could tell because I just can.”  Tony smiled his best I-have-the-genius-and-the-money-to-prove-anything smile.  “And you didn’t Hulk out.  Do I have to say I’m right again?”

And Bruce was smiling back.  “Apparently, yes, you do,” he said as he shut the visor in Tony’s face.

Bruce was just noticing that they were drifting again as they bantered.  The city bloomed beneath them like an electric flower and they were far enough above it to mute the omnipresent roar of traffic.  Bruce lapsed into silence as he studied the shimmering, shifting petals of light.  Tony’s antics had—damn him—put him more at ease with the idea of being so far above ground, yet secure enough to relax and enjoy it.  His white-knuckled grip around Tony’s waist eased a bit as he leaned into the armored arm across his back. 

“I want to try something…nothing weird…just relax and trust that I’m not going to let you fall,” Tony said in his electronic behind-the-mask voice.  “Ok?”

“Umm…ok,” Bruce agreed.

Tony leaned back, pointed his toes, and put one hand palm-down behind his back so the repulsors were aimed toward the ground and he could float on his back through the air.  The new angle meant that Bruce’s feet lost purchase on the metal, and he fought a moment of fear as he slipped.  But Tony held him in place against his chest with his spare arm until they were horizontal.  Looking down over Tony’s shoulder, Bruce had a full view of the city.  They coasted lazily, following the path of traffic far below.

“It feels like we’re floating on a river,” Bruce said, and he folded his arms across Tony’s chest and rested his head so he could gaze at the twinkling lights below.

“Yup.  Gravity is overrated.”  Tony flipped his visor up so he could watch Bruce with his own eyes.  Bruce was lying on his chest in just the right place so that Tony’s chin was resting in his hair.

“No, it’s not. Gravity is holding us together now.”

Tony crossed his arms over Bruce and did a quick barrel roll.  “ _I’m_ holding us together.  Gravity can go fuck itself.  Hey, I think I have a new theory on the creation of black holes.”

Bruce laughed.  “Is this still not a date?” Bruce teased.

Tony turned his face to nuzzle his cheek into Bruce’s soft, greying curls.  “Nope.  Just a guy with a rocket suit trying to cheer up his bro.”

They fell quiet, drifting through the sky well above the skyscrapers to avoid attention.  JARVIS played them songs from Bruce’s playlist, mostly classical guitar, to compliment the dancing city lights below.  Even in the small hours, the hazy night was alive with the smell of the city and the frenetic energy, but it was so far below them that it seemed like another world.  Dissociation was comfortable territory, and he understood why Tony found flying to be so therapeutic.  The craving to be part of something, yet not affected by it; to belong to an idea, yet completely independent; to have all the beauty and none of the pain: Bruce knew that feeling, too.

Eventually, the night air cooled enough to warrant a return to the tower.  They flew to the disassembly strip, where Bruce was set down on the balcony before JARVIS stripped Tony of the armor.  Waiting on the balcony was bag of Chinese takeout, a bottle of wine, and a thick wool blanket.  Bruce was surprised to find that his stomach was quite interested in food, even after flying right through the middle of Midtown Manhattan.  He made quick work of laying out the blanket and unpacking the containers.  They were still warm, even, he noted.

Tony joined him on the blanket—wearing soft blue flannel pants and a gold brocade house coat instead of the armor--with a pair of wine glasses in hand.  He poured one and moved to pour the second when Bruce placed his hand over the top.

“No, I’ve been having enough trouble sleeping.  I shouldn’t get drunk.”

Tony raised an eyebrow then carefully slid the glass away.  He poured it half full and set it back down next to Bruce.  “Then don’t get drunk,” he said.  “Though my motto is usually ‘all or nothing,’ it doesn’t have to be that way.  Well, not with everything.”

Bruce conceded and accepted the glass.  For the next few minutes, the only sound was the click of cheap wooden chopsticks and the clink of good crystal on concrete.  He was ravenous and found that he couldn’t remember the last time he had sat down to a meal.   As Bruce was contemplating making a move for the last won-ton, Tony got up and left with a “be right back,” thrown over his shoulder.  He returned with a tureen and a plate of bread on a silver platter.

Bruce lifted the lid and peered inside. “And…fondue?”

“Yeah, I want to see Cap’s face when he asks you how I broke you out of your funk.”

Bruce cocked an eyebrow, waiting for Tony to explain.

“It’s something my dad used to say.  I thought it would be nice for him to understand an allusion for once.”

Bruce accepted the answer without further explanation and began to eat.  Tony continued, “You know what else my dad used to say to me?  He always used to tell me, ‘Stop it with the ready, fire, aim bullshit, Tony.’  And I know I do, but sometimes I can’t stop myself, or I don’t realize what’s happened until it’s over.  So, I’m sorry.”

Bruce looked at Tony incredulously and set down his fork.  “You didn’t do anything to apologize for, Tony.  In fact, you’re the first person in...a long time…around whom I feel comfortable.  I know you’re just teasing.”

“No, that’s not the _point_.  I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long—I know sometimes you want to be just left the fuck alone.  I do, too.  But sometimes, that’s not what you _need._   Especially you!  You need space and peace and quiet, I got that, but you also need to know that there are people here who notice when you’re not yourself and care about how you’re feeling--who are willing to get up and do something about it instead of just make the right sympathetic noises at the right time.”

Bruce’s face flushed.  He didn’t know how to respond, so he pulled his hands into his lap, staring down as he twisted them around each other.  His fingers found the strap to the heart monitor and began picking at the cracked plastic band.

“It’s ok, Tony.  I’m used to it.”  He smiled, but it turned out rueful and forced.

“Well, that’s fucked up, and it’s my new mission to get you unused to it.  And if you’re comfortable with me, then you should be able to tell me what’s bothering you.  Or not.  We can just go break shit, too. I’m easy like that.

But I know how it feels to be depressed.  Sometimes it still creeps up on me, so I know that it never really goes away, either.  But I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bruce wanted to say, but the words stuck on a sudden lump in his throat.  Hearing Tony say the word “depressed” as if it was normal conversation (and not something that he never ever voiced aloud, not even in his own head most of the time) tore at something deep below Bruce's sternum. He swallowed it down, but Tony was already talking again.

“We’re _lab partners_ , don’t you see?  No one’s ever been able to keep up with me before…well, and actually want to keep doing it.  You are the yin to my yang, the anvil to my hammer, the equal and opposite reaction to my action.  Friends grow apart, lovers come and go, but lab partners are _forces of nature._ ”

Bruce was glad that there wasn’t much ambient lighting because he was sure his face was burning red.   The urge to cry almost overwhelmed him for a second—which was silly because Bruce never _cried_ , not since he was a child—but then it was replaced suddenly by anger, deep, soul-shifting anger at himself for not being the person that Tony obviously thought he was.

“It’s not like that, Tony,” Bruce said.  The heart monitor beeped.  “I can’t even let myself think like that.  That’s why I have to leave all the time.” Beep. “Whenever I start feeling like things are going to be alright, something happens and everyone around me gets hurt.” Beep.  “Everyone except ME!  AND I’M THE ONE WHO DESERVES IT!” Beep. Beep. Beep.”

Bruce’s hands gripped the edge of the blanket and he squeezed his eyes shut, as he tried to control his breathing.  But the heart monitor didn’t slow, hovering just below his threshold.  Bruce’s breath came out in a low whine as he fought for control of his body. 

Abruptly, Bruce was swept up by strong arms and crushed to Tony’s chest.  Tony reached for the frantic heart monitor, ripped the frayed band off Bruce’s wrist and sent it flying, still beeping, over the side of the building.  Bruce fought him for a moment, but Tony was stronger and more determined to keep him where he was.  He tried to push him away, but the engineer just held his hands by his wrist so he couldn’t gain leverage, not hurting, but not allowing him to hurt either.  “Stop,” Tony said, calm, but with real steel beneath.  “Just stop.  You don’t have to leave.  You never have to leave.  And if you do want to go, you can always come back.  A week, a year, a decade, it doesn’t matter.  This is your home now.”

“You are so stupid, Stark!” Bruce growled, but it dissolved into tears that he couldn’t stay. 

Tony released his wrists and wrapped solid, heavy arms around Bruce’s shaking shoulders.  “Yeah, I know.  Been told all my life, but it’s not going to make me quit. 'Ready fire aim' and 'all or nothing,' remember?”

Salt burned Bruce’s eyes and the back of his throat ached as he swallowed sobs.  “You know what the most pathetic part about this whole thing is?” he mumbled against Tony’s shoulder.  He could feel the metal edge of the arc reactor digging into his cheekbone.

“What, Bruce?”

“I don’t even know why I’m feeling this way!”  Tony held him back so he could look at his face.  Bruce scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.  “Usually I can tell what’s wrong, but right now everything is going so well. I have a good home, I don’t have to worry about food, and I have purpose again.  I can finally do real research in a lab that’s better than I ever dreamed!”

“Geez, you sound like a stray lab rat.”

“That’s pretty accurate.  I did kind of follow you home.”

“But they let me keep you!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Tony just smiled, bright in that everything’s-ok-I’m-a-fucking-superhero sort of way.  “And you are incredible.  Like, seriously, I don’t believe half the shit you’ve been through.”

Bruce smiled.  He was sure he was a mess, with red, runny eyes and hair pulled in too many directions.  But Tony smiled back and, for just a second, Bruce _felt_ incredible.

“I guess we’re done with dinner,” Tony said, surveying the table.  The cheese had cooled to a gloppy mess. Tony quirked in a wry, dissapointed way. “So much for fondue.”

“Thanks, but I’m more tired than hungry now,” Bruce admitted. “I think I need to go to sleep.”

Tony sighed.  “Well, let me walk you home, Doctor.  Wouldn’t want you accosted in dark alleys or anything like that.

“Uh…thanks, Tony.  For everything.”

“Yeah, and let me know about that date.  Whenever’s good for me.”

*****

When Steve entered the kitchen the next morning, Bruce and Tony were already awake and eating breakfast.  Both scientists were still flushed with sleep and slumped groggily over the counters.  Tony, brandishing a screwdriver, had the toaster half-disassembled on the counter with a stack of burnt toast beside it, and Bruce held his mug with both hands, eyes heavy-lidded as he inhaled the sweet, fragrant steam of his tea.

“You look good, Doc.  Have a good night last night?”

Bruce could feel Tony’s gaze on him, and he looked past Steve to see Tony’s espresso eyes dancing, begging him to please, please say it!

“Yeah, Tony took me out flying and then we had _fondue_.”  Bruce could practically feel Tony holding his breath.

Steve looked him up and down appraisingly and nodded. “It’s about time!” he said with approval, then turned and left the room. 

Whatever reaction Tony was expecting, that wasn’t it.  He just looked confused and very disappointed.  And then outraged.  ”About time?”

“I still don't get it,” Bruce said to his mug.


End file.
